


Burning Bright

by SkyLeaf



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Enjolras Has Feelings, Grantaire-centric, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Oblivious Enjolras, Pining, Pining Grantaire (Les Misérables), Possibly Unrequited Love, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24703399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyLeaf/pseuds/SkyLeaf
Summary: If Enjolras was the sun, Grantaire would have to think of himself as Icarus—rash, adventurous, and unable to look away from the light that shone into his world.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Burning Bright

**Author's Note:**

> A little fic that makes it pretty clear that the author loves comparing things to different celestial objects.

If there was one joy to be found in the dark corner of the Café Musain that Grantaire had claimed as his own the first time he had stumbled into the room, it was the way the shadows allowed him to hide from the eyes of the people around him, letting him remain unseen for as long as he wanted. Granted, that wish rarely lasted for very long, the pull of the liquor being stronger than that of the shadows, but the retreat was still there for him whenever he might come to need it.

Still, as much as Grantaire might have wanted to pretend that that was all that led him into the room day after day, evening after evening, he could not claim that he did not also love the corner for the fact that it allowed him to look towards the sun, staying within his own orbit as he envied those who had secured a place closer to the centre of the solar system.

No one could tell exactly from where the name had originated, who had been the first person to look towards Enjolras, see the fire burning bright in his eyes, a fire that could both bring life and death along with it, devouring those who came too close to him whole, and seen the way he could have replaced the sun above them. Part of Grantaire wanted to believe that it might have been him, that he might in one of his more lucid moments have cast a glance at Enjolras and named him Apollo, but he did not dare to hope for that to be true. Not when he should know better than to follow the pull towards the sun.

Maybe it was his destiny to ignore the advice of all logic, to continue to be seen here, remaining just close enough to the rebellion so that he would no doubt be viewed as being part of it by anyone looking through the windows, lacing his words and speeches with just enough cynical bitterness, desperate to see the sun burn brighter for just a moment as Enjolras would meet the taunt every time, rising from his chair, to not truly be a part of the fight, never straying from his orbit, but instead looking towards the sun and wishing for its warmth.

If Enjolras was the sun, Grantaire would have to think of himself as Icarus—rash, adventurous, and unable to look away from the light that shone into his world.

+++

The wine was warm. That was the reason Grantaire gave himself for the untouched bottle in front of him, the way he was listening to Enjolras, too engrossed by the speech to offer his own biting remark. Truly, it was not until the café had grown all but empty, the sun climbing up from behind the horizon, that the realisation that he had not spoken once throughout the many hours he had remained in his seat dawned on him, hitting him with the same kind of burning warmth as the sunbeams that slowly found their way into the room, crawling over the floor and illuminating the dusty air of the café.

Or perhaps the warmth that hit his right shoulder, spreading through his veins as he wished that he had been able to drink, to ignore everything, to greet the wonderful sensation of not feeling for a moment, belonged to the same person who was now standing next to him, looking down at him with a look in his eyes that, while not entirely friendly, did at least not hold the same kind of righteous fury Grantaire would see each time he interrupted his speeches to comment on the absurdity in thinking that they could really change anything.

Enjolras.

In that moment, Grantaire would almost wish that he was able to muster up the strength to give him a scathing remark, to react the way they had come to expect from him. Surely, there would be something for him to refute, a claim that he could question. After all, it was Enjolras, and even without an audience, Grantaire knew that Enjolras would not let any questions about the dreams of how the people would rise up alongside them go by unanswered. There would be an attack and a parry, Grantaire knew that, a few seconds of the sun burning next to him, heartbeats he could cling onto later.

But he could not find the words, instead looking directly up at Apollo.

“You were silent.” Enjolras said the words, disappointment giving an edge to the observation that Grantaire had not expected. Perhaps that was why he did not reply, merely looking up at him instead, the silence prompting Enjolras to continue. “I thought I had made it clear that we cannot accept the possibility of the barricade descending into a drunken stupor when the day arrives.” shooting the wine bottle a glance he did not even attempt to hide, Enjolras moved, Grantaire barely keeping himself from reaching out for him, desperate to keep the coldness from creeping into the world again. But, rather than disappearing, Enjolras merely pulled out a chair, sinking down into it with an expression that did not hold nearly enough distaste.

How quickly Grantaire would be able to change that.

“Not all of us have the privilege of finding ourselves with the sun upon our faces.” the wine bottle was full. Grantaire had not even attempted to pour himself a glass, letting it remain on the table, as pristine as anything in this room could be, still seeming old and poor when compared to the brightness of the sun next to it. The false accusation should perhaps have hurt, but even the lack of trust still gave him a few moments more before he would inevitably have to leave, and so, Grantaire did his best to prolong the moment, the voice that called him a liar be damned.

He could not know. It was not possible for Enjolras to know about the thoughts whirling through his brain, forming a dance—a waltz perhaps—wild and untamed. That much, Grantaire was sure of. How could he not be when it was one of the few reasons he found himself returning to the café evening after evening, night after night? No, he had to believe that he really was able to hide behind the pretence.

And yet, as Enjolras frowned, a line growing deeper between his brows, Grantaire could not deny that he felt the wax that held his wings together grow warmer, softer.

“You are drunk, Grantaire.” how Enjolras was able to sound so confident while being as far from the truth as he could possibly be would always be a mystery to Grantaire, the answer to it evading him as Enjolras extended his hand towards him in an unexpected display of a pitiful imitation of friendship. “It is time for you to go home and sleep it off.”

“How can I sleep when the sun is in the sky?”

A hint of a smile that only made him burn brighter made Enjolras tilt his head to the side as he looked at him, hand still waiting for Grantaire to accept that this was really all it could ever be, pity and disgust mixed into one.

“You will find a way, I am sure of that. You always seem to do.”

“You might be able to ignore the call of the sun, Apollo, but I am Icarus soaring through the sky towards his fall.” and with that, Grantaire pushed himself from the chair, making a point of ignoring Enjolras’ offer of help to instead send the bottle between them a long look. Maybe he would look and see his mistake. Maybe he would not. Truly, Grantaire expected the latter to be the case. When had Enjolras ever admitted to his delusions?

Still, as he walked past him, towards the door, Grantaire would have lied if he had tried to claim that he did not notice the way Enjolras’ expression faltered for a moment, something unsure settling into his gaze as he turned to look towards him. To think that the great Apollo would be surprised by something as simple as that.

Walking through the streets of Paris, seeing the way the pale rays of the sun were unable to reach him, Grantaire felt a feather fall from his shoulder.

+++

The nature of the sun was that it was going to burn until it would have used up all of its resources. There were glimpses of that, moments where Grantaire saw Enjolras stutter, having to spend a moment focusing on nothing but recovering his balance before he would have been sent crashing to the ground. How ironic, that the sun might never get the chance to send Icarus plummeting into the sea, instead burning out, becoming even brighter for a moment before finally dying.

But no one saw. At least that was what it seemed like when Grantaire would look around and see how even Combeferre only nodded along to Enjolras’ rants about society, Courfeyrac perhaps raising an eyebrow, but never doing more than that. Could they not see? Was he imagining things when he saw Enjolras stumble, taking an even step to the side, barely resisting the instinctive urge to hold onto the chair next to him to assure that he would not end up as a pile of fabric and unmoving limbs on the ground? Grantaire could only assume that that was the case, that his position in the outermost part of their little solar system gave him a better view of the events unfolding in front of him than those who were close, those whom he could already see burning up as Enjolras’ used every last bit of energy to try to awaken the sleeping people around him.

Had it not been for the fact that it would cost him his life—really, it would claim the life of every single person in the room, himself included, but Grantaire did his best not to think of that—Grantaire might have looked at Apollo and envied him his unwavering belief in the good of humanity. But, as much as he knew that the general sentiment he would be met with every time he showed up at the meetings would range from pity to vague confusion and a poorly hidden look meant to ask just what he was doing there, why the cynic continued to risk his life for a cause he did not truly seem to believe in, Grantaire was not the one who deserved pity. Not when Enjolras stood up, eyes burning as he urged everyone to have faith, to know that the people around them would not ignore their plea for help for much longer, that they would find Paris at their side in the end.

“What makes you believe that even your loudest yell will be enough to wake them from their dreams?”

It was not until he felt the rays of the sun on his face that Grantaire realised he had said the words out loud.

For a moment, the sound of his own heartbeat ringing in Grantaire’s ears making it feel far longer than the furious rhythm marked it as, Enjolras’ looked almost relieved to hear him speak, but that emotion soon flickered away, the usual annoyance only making him burn brighter, burn faster.

“I believe that humanity will follow its conscience,” Enjolras answered, “I believe that we will find ourselves with all the help we could ever have wished for if we only show enough courage to take the first step alone. They will not remain still once we show them another way.”

From somewhere next to him, Grantaire felt how someone—Courfeyrac perhaps—reached out for him, almost begging him to let it go and sit still again, to go back to his place far away from the sun where he might be able to preserve his wings for a little longer.

But just like Enjolras seemed to be controlled by a need to make himself burn brighter for as long as he could to provide those around him with a little warmth and light, Grantaire wanted to fly, so, although he knew that he was making everything worse, that, come morning, he would regret everything he had said the day before, he continued. “You believe a lot of things that you have little proof for. So you believe that the people around you will follow you, that they will abandon what little security they have all because you tell them to? Let me show you how wrong you are.” making sure to maintain eye contact, Grantaire reached for his glass, sending the wine down his throat, ignoring the way it felt like he was burning.

In front of him, Apollo glared at him, looking every bit like the super nova he would soon become. But then the anger turned cold, Enjolras almost seeming to make a point of ignoring him for the rest of the meeting, not once turning towards him to direct enough attention towards him to send back an angry speech for every remark Grantaire made about the pointlessness of it all.

By all means, it should have brought him joy to feel how the wax grew cold enough to not drip to the floor each time he moved, but as Grantaire placed the glass back down onto the table, unable to avoid Courfeyrac’s worried gaze, he only felt only a numb sense of coldness.

+++

They were going to burn. All of them, every single person at the barricade, they would all meet a fiery end.

The knowledge seemed almost laughably obvious to him as he watched them, hurrying through the streets, furniture dragged behind them, furniture that soon became piles, turned into a proper barricade, so sure of themselves that it pained him to know how it would all end.

And there, in the very centre of it all, stood Enjolras, yelling orders in every direction, a few strands of hair flying around his face each time he turned his head, the red vest giving off the appearance of fire reaching up to consume everyone around him, leaving Enjolras’ heart to instead move through the air as long, burning threads, igniting both courage and stupidity in the hearts of those around him. It looked almost like a solar flare, a fire bright enough to burn him even as he stood there, hidden away within the café. There was alcohol flowing through his veins, clouding his thoughts. Grantaire knew that much, knew that this time, Enjolras would not be wrong. But even the shroud that blinded his senses was still not enough to keep him from seeing it all unfold in the streets around him. Soon, dawn would arrive, painting the sky the colour of blood, creating a beautiful sight, the illusion of the bloodstained stones below him continuing into the sky almost seeming like it might become the subject of one of his worthless, striking paintings.

That was, if he would live to pick up a brush again.

As he stood there, leaning out of the window and seeing the way Apollo shone as the world grew darker around him, Grantaire knew that the moment for him to jump, to fly, would arrive soon.

+++

He had once seen how quickly liquor could burn, flames devouring it within seconds, creating a wonderful illusion of an inferno that lasted for a fraction of a second. Maybe that was what happened in the moment after he had lifted his head from the table, finding the world transformed around him.

Death was there. She did not even bother to hide, standing out there in the open, smiling at him from the middle of the room, the limp forms of those he had once thought of as friends, unsure of what word they had assigned to him—cynic, artist, drunkard, Icarus—strewn around her.

And there, up against the wall, Grantaire could see the sun.

Enjolras, fury ablaze in his eyes, looking at the soldiers like he might be able to singlehandedly burn down everything around him, was standing, looking almost calm as he invited the men in front of him to end it.

Grantaire leapt into the air, and, for a moment, he felt himself fall. But then his wings caught the wind, sending him upwards, up towards the sun.

“Long live the Republic! I’m one of them.”

That was all it took for him to escape his orbit, a planet putting itself onto a collision course with the sun just as much as he was a young man testing the limits of his wings, seeing how close to the sun they would take him.

The surprise that soon gave way for warmth, the way Enjolras at last seemed to understand as he crossed the room, for once not giving the danger in front of him another thought, should have been enough to burn him, but Grantaire continued. In that moment, it felt like he could reach the heavens if that was what he wanted, the sun letting its warm rays hit him as he took his place next to Enjolras.

“Do you permit it?” the question was small, not even a handful of words, but the smile was enough to let the feathers become ash, the wax dripping from his shoulders.

However, as he finally took Enjolras’ hand, bridging the gap between them and reaching the sun all in one motion, Grantaire could feel how the wings had to surrender to the sheer strength of the sun. Somewhere above him, Grantaire heard the sound of thunder.

He fell at Enjolras’ feet.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to, you are more than welcome to come find me at [the blog I made on Tumblr](https://like-a-handprint-on-my-heart.tumblr.com/) for musicals and theatre.


End file.
